


sugar & spice (and everything nice)

by anniebibananie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But they're so warm on each other it's disgusting, F/M, Great British Bake Off - Freeform, Luna and Harry are competing, Modern AU, lots of sugar! and baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Luna and Harry meet on the Great British Bake Off. At some point, winning doesn't seem to be the only prize on the table anymore.





	sugar & spice (and everything nice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofhobbitsandwomen (litvirg)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litvirg/gifts).



> let my title be cliche and disgusting, okay?? it's part of the *genre*. 
> 
> for steph who i think might need a little extra cute, fluff in her life right about now. i hope you like this <3
> 
> i haven't written harry potter fanfiction in a decade this is freakin' insane. what a return.

Harry stood in the middle—Luna to the left of him, Susan to the right. Truth be told, he couldn’t quite believe he had made it to the final three. It had been on a whim to apply at all, and now he stood with his biscuit and sponge cake tower in front of him fashioned like a dragon breathing fire with the hope of taking home the prize. 

He looked to the left of him, to Luna, who had her bottom lip working between her teeth and a strand of hair twirling around her finger on the hand that wasn’t currently looped in his own. On his right, Susan and his hands were cupped normally. His and Luna’s were interlaced, held tightly, and he thought back to the first time he had met her. To when she had seemed wacky and far away. 

* * *

They were waiting to walk across the iconic lawn for the first time, all chatting and conversing. Harry was talking to a nice older woman he hadn’t quite caught the name of, when he noticed her. Luna Lovegood before that name came to be coated in sugar and light. She was sitting in the corner, eyes trained out the wide window at the lawn behind them. The sun seemed to glitter across her waist-long, slightly scraggly hair. She seemed sort of dotty, really, but she also seemed sort of sad. 

Harry went over to lean against the frame of the window on the opposite side of her. “Hi,” he said, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck as he already felt the awkwardness. 

She was looking at him and not saying anything. Her head tilted. Her big eyes looked like something out of a fairytale, but almost on the edge of bulging. “You’re Harry Potter.” 

He nodded and raised a brow. “I know I am.” He chuckled a little. “How do _you_ know?” 

Her pink lips, pink to the point of being unreal—was she wearing lip gloss? She had to be—lifted at the edges. Her smile seemed half here half somewhere else he would never be able to grasp. “You just introduced yourself to Padma.” 

He paused, and then he laughed in a surprise. Her smile widened. “I did. I didn’t catch your name, though.” 

“Luna Lovegood,” she introduced. Her voice was dreamy, already feeling somewhere else. That was before he realized that it wasn’t necessarily about going anywhere else, that sometimes she just didn’t quite know how to be _here._ And _that_ he understood. 

* * *

He had sort of thought he would do better on Bread Week all things considered. He had practiced nearly a dozen times, loading all of the leftovers off to different Weasleys who were complimentary. Hermione had said it was _tart but flavorful_ which he had thought was good feedback, but the judges…. Well, they had been less than impressed. 

It was over-proved, he knew, and he had gotten in his head after botching last week’s technical, but he could still recover from this. Take it step by step, he had to remind himself. The camera crew was off interviewing Susan who had _nailed_ her signature, and he reminded himself that he was happy for her. He just wished _he_ had done better. 

“I thought it was delightful,” came a voice sounding of wind chimes. 

Harry turned to see Luna sitting on the brick wall, tapping her conversed heels against it. She was in a colorful dress, warm jumper covering her arms, and her hair was half up in dual matching buns while the rest went down her back. Most weeks, she quite literally looked like something from another planet. As if she just magically showed up in the tent with her ridiculous concoctions that seemed to make _zero_ sense but always turned out well, and the rest of the time she was off in space. 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to not be too pissy with her when it wasn’t _her_ fault. “Just wish the judges thought so.” 

She shrugged. Her eyes went to the spot next to her, though she didn’t make any clear invitation. Harry went and sat beside her, anyways. 

“The judges aren’t everything, you know.” 

“I mean… they decide the winner,” he said. “I thought I wouldn’t care about winning, after all this, that I was just happy to be here, but then…” He sighed. 

It was impossible now to not think about the way his childhood memories were coated in smells from the oven. Most days it felt like he could barely remember his parents’ faces, that the images seared into his brain were forged from pictures more than actual memory, but the smell of his parent’s baking would be wafting around his heart until the day he died. 

Even when he finally ended up at his Godfather's house after years of custody disputes, Sirius not being all that sure how to actually have a kid but wanting to do best by his gone friend’s the best he could, it was how Harry was finally able to reconnect with Lily and James. His mom and dad. 

Sirius pulled out the old binder of recipes. Remus picked up the ingredients. And together all three of them dove into the past, trying their best to piece together who his parents used to be from the flavors of the bakes and their distinct scrawls on the recipe cards. When things were finally in the oven, and they had some time to sit, Sirius and Remus usually were finally able to open enough to tell a few stories. 

The smell of the oven? The clicking of a timer? It was the closest Harry ever felt to his mom and dad. Maybe that was why he wanted to win so badly, as if finally he could feel them somewhere far away. As if to prove that he was honoring their memory the best he could. 

“It’s your mom, right?” Luna asked. Her eyes were trailing the ground in front of her, and if he hadn’t seen her mouth move he would have thought he imagined the question. 

“What?” How could she have _possibly_ know? 

“You want to win for your mom? Or your dad?” Her rainbow painted nails tapped against her knee. “When the judges came by you mentioned it was a family recipe. It’s not stupid to want to make them proud.” 

“I… Yeah,” he admitted. He chewed at the inside of his cheek and nodded. He wasn’t sure what it was about her beside him that made it feel easier to be open and honest. Maybe it was that there was nothing judgmental at all about her—not a single atom of her existence. “They died when I was young.” 

She nodded and didn’t tell him any of the usual things— _I’m so sorry_ or _How tragic._ “My mom died was when I was young, too. Right in front of me.” 

His gaze snapped to the side of her face, but there was no sign of that tragedy on her face. She still looked serene, somehow. When she turned to meet his gaze, she gave him a soft smile, and he couldn’t help but return it. 

“I bake for her,” she said. “Even when the judges don’t like it… I’m pretty sure she would have.” 

Harry didn’t point out that parents were pretty much unconditionally supportive because he thought he understood what she was saying. The others might have been there for good reasons, too, but now the two of them understood each other. They were there for the ones who couldn't be, and they were there to feel connected. In a way, no matter what happened, they were already winning some sort of prize.

* * *

“Oh, _shoot_ ,” came a delicate voice from behind. 

Harry still had about five cookies to frost, and he was _definitely not freaking out about it not at all,_ but Luna was standing in front of her biscuit windmill as it began tilting to the side with a sense of frustration that was actually sort of cute. She huffed a blonde tendril of hair out of her face. 

He lunged forward and caught the whole thing before it fell, and her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Thanks, Harry.” 

“It’s too heavy on this side,” he said, supporting it some more as his eyes scanned the design. It was really quite clever. “Maybe if you could alternate the cars, it would…” 

“ _B_ _rill,”_ she said with an eerie sort of calm. “Could you…” 

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll hold it while you take those few off.” 

“Thanks, Harry,” she repeated. Her voice was breathless, and her eyes were back on the windmill, and the flush of pink on her cheeks looked soft and pretty. Her hair was being held off her face, besides for the fallen tendrils, by a spatula somehow looping it into a knot. He couldn’t help but laugh a little and be utterly charmed. She looked up at him, smile calm, and he smiled back. “Get back to your cookies,” she whispered, nodding her head behind him. 

He whipped back into action. 

* * *

“You know what they’re saying, don’t you mate?” Ron asked, mouth full of french pastries. 

Harry thought it sort of defeated the purpose of Ron testing any of his food off if he wasn’t even going to chew it slowly enough to enjoy it. Or put more than a single pastry into his mouth. Whatever, at least it was good for his ego. 

“Who is they? Why do I care about they?” Harry ran a hand through his hair, blowing a frustrated breath out from between his teeth as he stared at the deflating pastries. They just needed to be tiny and perfect. His flavors were coming along, but the look? He needed to do some damage control. 

“The _internet,_ ” Ron said. 

Harry had done his best to avoid all internet reporting of him since the show started premiering. They were still filming, but it was staggered to be a bit behind. He barely used social media as it was, and he had very little interest in seeing some weird article filled with gifs of his face from the show. He stayed far away. 

Hermione came in then, looking stressed out though she usually looked sort of stressed out. She dropped her heavy book on the table and curled herself into one of the kitchen chairs. When she reached out for a pastry, she slapped Ron’s hand away who was reaching for another. “Ron, please _wait._ ” She took a bite, covering her mouth as she chewed, and mewled an appreciative sound. “That’s good, Harry.” 

“Thanks, Hermione.” He smiled, though it dropped when he noticed how crestfallen they still all looked. 

“Is no one going to listen to me?” Ron asked, hands covered in cream thrown up by the sides of his face. 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What? Were you going on again about how _hot_ Padma Patil is?”

“She is, and her sweet bread loaf looked delicious, but that's not actually the point.” 

Harry laughed as he leaned up against his counter. “Ron. Get to it, then.” 

“The internet is going on about you and _Luna,_ ” Ron said, wiggling his fingers a little as if to add suspense to the announcement. “There’s all these listicles about how you two always help each other out, and stare at each other, and yadda yadda. So, tell me mate, is it true?” 

“Harry is under no obligation to tell you whether or not he fancies Luna Lovegood,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. Her lips twisted up as she turned her gaze to Harry. "Though, if he doesn’t tell his _true_ best friend Hermione Granger, _then_ there might be a problem.” 

“You’re both ridiculous,” he said with the wave of a whisk. It left his cheek with a flick of cream dotting his skin. “The internet is always crazy.”

Hermione and Ron shared a look. Harry hated when they shared that stupid look. 

* * *

Harry was snacking on a granola bar because though he was in the tent all day making baked goods, it didn’t mean he could survive entirely off of that. Luna was next to him, legs crossed, as they sat by the small pond. She chewed on her thumb cuticle, and he picked at grass with his free hand. 

He held half of the granola bar out to her. She took it and broke it apart in her hands, chewing small sections. 

“I think…” he trailed off. No one in the tent had been given particularly good input, but that was what happened when it came down to the last few. It got tougher. 

She hummed, staying silent through her chews. The sun screeched above them, and Harry leaned back to push his face closer to the warmth. He thought Luna was pale enough she could burn just from sitting out there for a few minutes as the judges deliberated, but she didn’t seem concerned by it. 

“Well, I think the other contestants liked my pudding at least.” He picked at his shoes, feeling bad for how he’d marred the grass. His fingers had nervous energy, and he needed somewhere to put it. 

Luna sighed. It wasn’t sad or tired, necessarily. Not frustrated. Harry tried to place it, but it seemed more _here,_ more _present_ than Luna could be a lot of the time. “I think they think I’m a bit off, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, though he _did_ have some idea what she was saying. Some of the other contestants weren’t always as understandable to Luna’s theatrics, though they had come to accept her well enough. Harry thought part of it might just be jealousy. She was _good._ She always topped well in technicals, and she was tied for first with most Star Bakers as well. 

She shrugged, and she sat back with her palms spread in the grass and her head tilted toward the sun. It glittered off her long, pale eyelashes. “Too many strange combinations. Wild ideas. I’m a bit loony, maybe.” 

Harry watched her with a soft smile, something he might be sort of shy to show her if she was actually looking at him. “I think you’re wonderful.” 

When she opened her eyes they started to tear near instantly from the bright sun, and she turned toward him to smile back. He reached up with the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture, and her smile widened. 

“You’re nice,” she whispered. “And your bakes are good. You’re not going anywhere, Harry.” 

Harry didn’t know how a voice could sound like seashells and spun sugar and warm sand, but hers did. 

“Back to the tent, bakers!” came the yell of an overeager production assistant. 

Harry popped up first, reaching out this hands to hoist Luna up after him. She stumbled slightly into his side, and her hand found his to give it a squeeze. He squeezed back. 

* * *

“One hour left!” 

“Oh god,” Harry muttered as he kept carving his cakes. He couldn’t forget about the biscuits in the oven still or they’d get too crisp. They were going to be his scales for the dragon-shaped cake sitting beneath it, and he couldn’t have the taste or coloring getting messed up. 

This was make or break it.

He needed to get this cake into the chiller or he would never be able to frost it. His eyes were in front of him, seeing the mermaid display Susan was putting together out of the corner of his eye, and then he was passing Luna who had honest to god fairies suspended from what seemed to be a whole mystical tree. The theme had been fantasy, and he had been feeling pretty good about his dragon but the girls had seriously _brought_ it. 

He was rushing past Luna’s display when devastation almost struck. 

“What the—” His feet were hitting something, and he could feel the cake and his body falling forward, when Luna’s hands were grabbing it to keep it up right. 

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. 

Harry let out a rush of breath, his heart beating so fast he thought it would push through his chest. When he looked down to see what he had tripped on it was a pair of Luna's converse (and her bare feet—nails painted with daisies—beside them). 

“Why… aren’t you wearing shoes?” he asked, and there were a million more things yet to be done, and this girl nearly cost him the competition, but despite it all his voice was unbearably warm and fond. 

“They were restricting the creative process,” she answered. Her eyes blinked wide and blue back at him, no sense of humor in her voice. 

“I…” he trailed off, unable to keep the bursting smile off his face. He dipped around his cake and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for saving my dragon.” 

Her cheeks grew pinker. “Of course. She’s lovely.” She nodded to her side, raising a fair brow. “On with it, though.” 

Maybe he did sort of have a crush on Luna Lovegood. She was all sorts of sweet and soft and the exact perfect sort of wacky. She understood him and baked wonderful treats and she rarely had a bad word to say about anyone (unless they _really_ deserved it, in which case Harry usually found himself agreeing). 

* * *

The three of them stood in front of the judges and the hosts. There were all the past contestants and their family members in the field behind them, waiting for the news to come. Harry squeezed onto Luna’s hand tighter. He hoped his palm wasn’t too sweaty, but he had a feeling it probably was. 

“The winner of this year’s Great British Bake Off is…” 

“Luna Lovegood!” 

“Wha—” She brought her free hand to her mouth, looking to Harry with wide eyes. 

He held open his arms, and she jumped in. She squealed into his shoulder, and he held her there. 

“You did it,” he whispered. “Of course you did. Go get your prize.” 

Her feet met the ground again, and she reached over to give Susan’s hand a big squeeze, and then she was off to hug the judges. 

“If it wasn't going to be me, I’m glad your girlfriend won at least, Potter,” Susan said, hitting her shoulder into his. She was smirking when he turned to argue, and the words died on his lips. 

He was pretty happy she had won, too. 

* * *

Ron was shoveling his second piece of Harry’s cake into his mouth, Hermione watching him with absolute horror in her eyes, when Sirius came back from whatever he was doing and sat down on the blanket beside them. 

“Her dad is absolutely mental,” Sirius said, pointing his thumb behind him. “She seems nice, though.” 

“Who?” Harry asked, tilting up to look behind Sirius. Luna was talking to a man who _had_ to be her dad, just no way around it, and somehow she seemed to sense his gaze because she looked up and smiled. Then waved. He gave a little wave back before turning his gaze to Sirius again. “Why were you talking to her?” 

“Figure I should get to know the new lady and all that,” he said, dipping forward and taking a finger-full of frosting off of Ron’s slice who grumbled in response. 

“She’s not— It’s not—”

“Oh, just go over there, Harry,” Hermione exclaimed, throwing a hand into the air. 

He shook his head as he laughed lightly. “Okay.” Ignoring the way Sirius waggled his brows and Hermione’s know-it-all sort of look, he walked over to Luna. 

“Harry!” she said as she still held the winner’s flower bouquet in her arms. “This is my dad.” 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand and shaking. 

“Splendid bake, Harry. Truly a delightful mix of flavors.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Well, Harry could at least understand Luna’s personality a little looking at her dad. He turned to the girl in question, the winner and now one of his best friends, quite truthfully. “Luna, would I be able to steal you for a second?” 

“Of course, Harry.” She handed her flowers off to her father, who gave them a brief wave goodbye before turning toward someone else to dive into conversation. Luna looped her now free arms through Harry’s, holding him to her side. “Should we walk toward the pond?” she asked. 

“Sure,” he agreed. _Come on, Potter,_ he thought. _Don’t chicken out now._ “I was just thinking, um… well, now that we won’t get to see each other every week we should hang out maybe outside of the show?” 

That had not really sounded anywhere as near as sure as he was shooting for. 

“Like a date?” she asked. 

He couldn’t read her voice. Was that a good or a bad question? “I mean…” he began. 

“I’d like it to be a date,” she finished for him. 

His feet stopped, and he turned toward Luna. She turned right back toward him and pushed her long, blonde hair behind her ears. With her face on display, he could see a smattering of freckles and her pink tongue dipping out to wet her lips. 

“You would?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Good. I mean, yeah, same.” He laughed as he ran a hand through his hair, probably making it impossibly messy. She reached up a hand to tug at a curl, and he felt like his face was going to crack with the force of his smile. “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

She nodded minutely, sort of like a doll, and tipped her head up. His hands cupped her cheeks, and when he met their lips in the middle it tasted like sugar and cinnamon. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, and he was _full_.Harry had made and eaten his fair share of bakes in his life, but nothing had ever come close to being or tasting as sweet as Luna Lovegood. 

He didn’t even care that it was stupid and cliche to think it. It was true, and he was _happy_ , and he was going to ride it for as long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at: [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
